


Dinners and Diatribes

by cyanideinsomnia



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blood Drinking, Blood and Violence, Bottom Lucio (The Arcana), Demon Valerius (The Arcana), Dominant Valerius (The Arcana), Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, Exhibitionism, Extremely Dubious Consent, Hypnotism, M/M, Mind Control, Multi, Potential Spoilers, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Magic, Soul Sex, Valerius does not have enough wine for this, Vlastomil is creepy and gross, Voyeurism, are you sure you're in the right dinner party, probably not canon compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:27:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21603712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyanideinsomnia/pseuds/cyanideinsomnia
Summary: “What ARE we doing with him, then?” Vulgora asked, frustrated.Black fingers shifted back to cup Lucio’s cheek, curling a claw under his jaw to turn his face up towards him, forcing him to look into cold crimson eyes. It was clear he was caught there, unable to look away. “Whatever you want to do to him, without protest or complaint. Isn’t that right?”“I-- I don’t--”
Relationships: Lucio (The Arcana)/Other(s), Lucio/Valerius (The Arcana), Lucio/Valerius/The Devil (The Arcana), The Devil/Lucio (The Arcana)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 51





	Dinners and Diatribes

**Author's Note:**

> takes place while he has the MC's body and being the devil's bitch, no specific route
> 
> quasi sequel to Feast of Fools?? it has the same weird soul shit in it
> 
> happy thanksgiving, have a helping of Lucio's ass

Five sets of eyes rose from the table as Valerius entered the secret banquet hall, fresh wine glass in hand, though it was the ones at the head of the table that gave him pause - cold, unnatural crimson, at once inside the face of a handsome man from his dreams and a large white goat monster with two sets of onyx horns and intricate marks drawn down its snout, each shifting back and forth into focus.

“Good of you to _finally_ join us,” Praetor Vlastomil sniffed from the seat directly to the right of the man -- goat -- goatman. 

To _his_ right sat Quaestor Valdemar, the second most concerning thing in the room considering their elusive nature. Their face was uncovered, a tense but polite smile pasted to their features in lieu of their usual surgical mask. They said nothing, and he was glad for it.

Across from them was Procurator Volta, too busy sniffing at the empty table to pay him much mind. Pontifex Vulgora was on her left, throwing back a small gold chalice like a mug of ale before letting it fly somewhere down the table, somehow missing Volta and anything important on its journey to clatter into the back wall. Their reddened, piggish face contorted into a sneer as he approached, and he was equally glad there was not an empty seat next to them.

“Fashionably late without the fashion,” They suggested with a snort. 

“Yes, I’ve always admired _your_ opinion on the subject,” Valerius huffed, momentarily distracted from his shrewd examination of their host, allowing him to take a seat next to Volta. “I would like to know why we’ve all been gathered here at such an ungodly hour.”

“It’s 3 o’ clock in the afternoon,” Volta pointed out, leaning over to sniff him instead.

He immediately tugged his glass as far away from her probing snout as he could, just in case she liked the smell currently clinging to his robe and skin enough to try to take a sip. This was a good one, a strong one, not for sharing. She pouted, but didn’t follow it any further than arching up over his closer shoulder before returning to investigating the table for potential food scraps that may have appeared while she wasn’t looking.

“You’ll know soon enough,” Their host rumbled with a sharp-toothed smile, voice deep and strikingly familiar in its unnatural timber. 

His face and form had finally stopped flickering nauseatingly between species, and now the Consul could see that it wasn’t just _any_ goat monster - it was the Devil Arcana. The world around him felt very concrete and non-magical, so how was he here?? Was he here? Had he chosen too strong of a vintage for this?

No one else seemed to question the beast’s presence, treating this as a perfectly normal business meeting with a goddamn magical creature in their midst. Then again, considering current company, a goddamn magical creature may be the most _normal_ thing in their midst. 

The Devil’s gaze shifted over his shoulder, towards the entrance of the banquet hall, just as the sound of high-heeled boots tromping down stone steps echoed through the corridor, swiftly followed by the door being slammed open from the outside.

“What is it _now_?!” A familiar voice nearly shrieked, a bit breathless as though he’d been running before they’d heard him on the steps. “I’m getting the stupid hearts like you--”

Valerius turned towards the door, watching Lucio’s expression shift as he seemed to realize who all was here. Just like the Consul before him, red eyes fell upon the creature at the head of the table first, and then Valdemar, and then back to the Devil, visibly judging just how much trouble he’d walked into by their combined presence. Unlike Valerius, he seemed to know very well what was at the head of the table, and he looked like he was about to bolt.

He remained frozen by the door for a long moment, lips twitching back into a strained, reflexive grin. His eyes stayed fixed on the Devil, whose gaze was calm but predatory, waiting for him to make a move so he could pounce.

“... you’re in _my_ seat.” Was what he managed, finally.

The Devil laughed, flashing too many sharp teeth. The Count’s face turned bright pink with indignation, hitching up his shoulders like a bird trying to make itself look bigger, the fur of his cloak representing puffed out feathers. It was much better than the frightened deer look, although it definitely did not have the intimidating effect he probably wanted. Vulgora’s hooting laughter joined in at that, Valerius burying a smile in his wine despite himself. 

He could hear Lucio indignantly spluttering, trying to claw his way back on top of the situation somehow. “Well--! He is!”

“Join me, won’t you?” The monster purred, unmoved.

The tone was oddly sensual, but firm, brooking no argument, a statement disguised as a question - ‘you WILL join me’. All of the bravado immediately fled from Lucio’s frame, nervously shifting back on his heels but making no move either towards or away from the door.

His master tsked, sharp grin faltering. “Perhaps you didn’t hear me.”

One broad black hand raised slightly above the table, the end of a black chain manifesting in the palm, metal dimly glowing red like burning embers as it formed link by link until the other end was tightly wound around Lucio’s neck. It was less like he’d just put it there, and more like he’d revealed it to the rest of them, including the bastard himself. To his credit, the Count did attempt to pull back against his leash, wincing as it only pulled tighter against pale flesh.

Valerius’ own throat ached to look at it, an oddly familiar sensation, and he smothered the feeling in another deep swig of wine.

The Devil closed his fingers around his end of the chain and tugged it towards him none too gently, forcing his pet to stagger forward to keep his balance before reluctantly following it to the table, face turning the same shade of red as the burning metal against his neck. The others thankfully only watched him, Vulgora grinning like they held the other end of his leash. 

Another rough yank at the end of his long, humiliating journey sent him tumbling into the Devil’s lap with a surprised yelp, the expression on his captor’s face indicating that this was exactly where he was supposed to be. His own expression was somewhere between shocked and mortified, but the thick white arm lazily wrapping around his waist kept him from trying to escape his fluffy prison. The chain around his neck disappeared, leaving behind red welts that looked like old burns, and he immediately rubbed at the skin there with a shudder of relief as though it was actually gone and not simply hidden again.

“Cute,” Vulgora snorted, taking advantage of the fact that Lucio was stunned into silence. “But what’s that got to do with us?”

“He said he was getting hearts!” Volta chirped, good eye brightening. “Did he bring ‘em? Can I see??”

She leaned towards the head of the table to sniff, and Lucio flinched into white fur, a flash of guilt across his still-red face giving the answer. The question of _why_ he was getting hearts - human hearts? animal hearts?? - would not have an answer, Valerius supposed, considering everyone else seemed to be unsettlingly interested in the idea to point that his avoidance was a disappointment.

The Devil’s free hand drifted up to stroke his captive’s cheek, startling him with the strangely gentle gesture. “ _Patience_ , dear. I simply wanted to show you that he has a few more _uses_ than mere errand boy.”

“... what exactly do you mean by _uses_?” The errand boy in question squeaked out.

“I believe we all deserve a little indulgence, don’t you think?” He continued with a grin, ignoring his words but still caressing his face. “A little taste of what should happen if he fails. It’ll make this whole situation a bit more… palatable.”

“Those’re eatin’ words. We’re gonna eat him.” Vulgora assessed with a solemn nod.

Once again the room echoed with the Devil’s deep laughter, almost but not quite covering a squawk of terror from his lap. Lucio immediately pushed against the arm holding him prisoner, the closest he could probably get to making his escape, and whined as it simply tightened its grip, crushing him closer to the beast’s chest. The fear in his eyes said that he absolutely believed they were going to eat him, no matter how ridiculous it sounded, and Valerius once again wondered what he was missing here.

A swift shake of the goatlike head did nothing to assuage him, and neither did the hand coming up to absently stroke his hair. “Just a taste, nothing so _permanent_.”

“I don’t want to be tasted either,” The Count mumbled, though he seemed to be relaxing a bit under the hand. “I’m probably delicious.”

More of an _acquired_ taste, Valerius thought. Like cheap wine.

“Killing him would be too permanent as well,” Valdemar added in a bored tone, folding their arms across their chest in clear disappointment. Perhaps the only heart they were interested in was his, preferably still bloody and beating in their grasp.

“What ARE we doing with him, then?” Vulgora asked, frustrated. 

Black fingers shifted back to cup Lucio’s cheek, curling a claw under his jaw to turn his face up towards him, forcing him to look into cold crimson eyes. It was clear he was caught there, unable to look away. “Whatever you _want_ to do to him, without protest or complaint. Isn’t that right?”

“I-- I don’t--” 

His voice died in his throat as claws ran through gold hair once more, slowly arching up against them like a needy cat the longer the motion continued, red eyes still locked with crimson. The only difference this time was that it seemed to be irresistible, more than just the fact that it was affection he’d been denied for at least three years.

There was the warm pull of strong magic emanating from the head of the table, threatening to drag the audience into the show. It definitely had its claws in the Count, drawing him closer to the Devil as the hand stroked down his neck and upper back, shoulders and eyelids slowly dropping under his touch. The arm around his waist loosened, barely holding him still, but he didn’t move to escape again, too focused on leaning into that hand and those eyes.

“Don’t... “ It came out more as a breath than a plea, half-caught in his throat as his will continued to crumble. His lips twitched to continue, then fell slack, rewarded with a stroke of the beast’s thumb across them.

His body continued to relax, further and further until he could no longer support himself, dropping against the big white chest, head lolling back, completely malleable under broad black hands that continued to stroke and caress. His red eyes dulled, dark and unfocused with a private kind of pleasure, breathing slow and almost negligible as his master’s hand passed over his chest. The idea of struggling was clearly as far from his mind as Vesuvia was from Southern shores, practically melting into the Devil’s lap.

Valerius let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, transfixed by whatever the hell was going on before him. He wanted to know what that felt like and how he could learn to do it all at once. It seemed like a lot of power to have in one’s hands, especially regarding its current victim.

The elegant white snout brushed up against his captive’s ear, murmuring something into it - likely some kind of command, something he wouldn’t want the rest of them to have, though it sounded like some foreign tongue his mortal mouth would never be able to reproduce. Lucio shuddered against him, slowly rousting himself from his relaxed pancake state, clumsily pawing at the red broach pinning his cloak.

It finally dropped to the floor by the Devil’s foot after a few seconds of concerted effort, followed by his military sash with a jangle of medals. It wasn’t until those clumsy fingers tugged at the buttons on his coat that Valerius realized what he was trying to do, once again transfixed as heat flooded his cheeks unbidden.

He knew the man was an exhibitionist, but here? Now? In front of _these_ people?

How far under the Devil’s spell was he?

More heat flooded him as he realized the beast’s eyes were directly on him, regarding his current state with similar predatory interest. His stomach twisted, unconsciously shifting his legs closer together as he was caught in that crimson gaze like a rat in a trap.

“Care to assist, Consul Valerius?” The Devil purred.

“I c’n do it,” Lucio mumbled against the thick white fur, though his fingers continued to slowly fumble with the buttons on his coat, occasionally missing them entirely. Valerius knew what it was like to try to do small motions in a dream.

Perhaps that's all this was. A weird dream.

It would explain why he stepped forward as if compelled, acquiescing without a hint of protest. He stiffly brushed aside the other man's hands to start undoing the buttons with practiced ease, very aware of their weight falling to his shoulders as support, though most of his weight was held in the crook of his master's arm. Tugging open the coat revealed his shirt already unbuttoned, his pale chest exposed and barely shifting with his slow breaths.

His eyes traced each crook and divot in that lean cut frame, beautiful as he was three years ago before the Plague destroyed him. He couldn't help but run his hands along skin he knew was soft from good living but firm with muscle, warmth flooding his face and further down as Lucio leaned into his touch with a dreamy little ‘mmm’ in approval. His arms had fallen limply to his sides instead of greedily grabbing for Valerius’ own body, the most glaring, unsettling difference, coat and shirt dropping to the floor alongside the other regalia.

“Just a dream,” Valerius murmured against his neck, more for himself than the dazed man under his hands, those hands shifting to his trousers, now the one fumbling at the laces. Once again he expected an impatient whine, or the Count shoving him aside to do it himself - but he just remained limp in the Devil's grip, dull red eyes loosely focused on the Consul at his hips, miles away. Did he even know he was there?

A small peek of fine golden hair was as far as he got before sense took hold, backing away from the both of them, grabbing at his wine like a lifeline. His face burned as the others laughed, with of course the exception of Lucio.

“He can handle _that_ himself,” Valerius huffed, trying to cover the burst of shame and guilt with his normal acidic tone.

The Devil smiled, black hand coming to rest against Lucio’s thigh. Slowly the white fabric of his pants began to smoke and curl away from his skin from the hand outwards, burning away until he was completely exposed. His boots followed suit, dissipating into nothingness. The former Count now sat naked on the Devil's knee, and his only protest was a nearly unintelligible mutter of ‘my boots’ in a distant, sad tone. His posture was completely relaxed, both legs hanging wide open like a common tavern slut, shameless as always - maybe he wasn’t too far gone in there.

The black hand squeezed the thigh in its grasp before it drifted upward, curling beneath his chin to tilt his head back, animal jaws closing around his mouth in a possessive kiss that looked more like he was trying to devour his face. Painted eyelids fluttered closed as he leaned into the abuse, blood trickling down his chin, quickly lapped up by his captor’s thick black tongue as the Devil released him. Some kind of red mist followed between their mouths, drawn out of him with a shuddering gasp, and something inside Valerius yearned to take it for himself.

Around him he felt more than saw the other Courtiers watching with that same odd predatory feeling, though he knew they didn’t bother quashing it. The taste of wine did nothing to chase it out of his mind and mouth, coiling in the pit of his stomach like some kind of monstrous beast waiting to leap.

More earthly red drew from pale skin as black claws dug into his neck, a soft hiss of pain echoed by unsettlingly hungry gasps behind Valerius. “Who wants the first take? It’s rather exquisite, all things considered.”

Valerius fell dead still so that those cold eyes wouldn’t fall on him again, staring into his glass and wishing the wine wasn’t so deeply crimson, like the blood trickling down Lucio’s chest unhindered. If he finished it, he could excuse himself for more - but then he’d also draw their attention with his movement, and though he wasn’t the intended prey he still couldn’t stand those predatory eyes.

“Thank you for the offer, but I’m afraid I’ll have to decline,” Quaestor Valdemar said calmly, though he could hear the tinge of hunger in their voice. They tilted their head to the side and smiled, too wide and too many sharp teeth. “If I partake I may not leave much for anyone else, you understand. I’ll just be watching.”

“Yes, I’d rather keep the body somewhat intact, thank you,” The Devil chuckled, patting at his captive’s hip like a man appraising cattle before pushing him to his feet. “The rest - well, I believe destroying _that_ would only hinder yourselves, though I don’t care one way or the other how far you take it.”

How far _did_ they intend to take it? What was he about to witness?

A nudge at the small of his back with the heel of one broad hand, nearly toppling him over, before Lucio slowly climbed atop the table between them, just as carefully lying down along the cloth like a banquet himself. His eyes were still distant and unfocused, though his cock was hard, which admittedly wasn’t a grand feat considering his master had simply _touched_ him. Valerius kept his own hands pulled close to himself, one in his lap and the other holding tightly to the half-empty glass, trying not to look but being unable to tear his eyes away. He wanted to ravish that prone body before the others tore it apart, give him some sense of _normalcy_ in this mad scene.

The golden arm was inches from his own, clawed fingers slowly twitching towards him as if reaching for him. He was probably reading too far into the subtle motion - Lucio was staring blindly upwards, gaze somewhere between the ceiling and oblivion. It was all he could do to keep from grabbing that hand regardless, a gesture he’d never appreciate in his right mind but may have needed now, especially as Vulgora leapt to tear into his other arm and torso with animalistic glee.

Blood sprayed across the table where armored claws and hungry teeth dug into his skin, yet he barely flinched, lying unnaturally still under the onslaught. The Pontifex sunk their teeth deep into his neck and thrashed him a bit, threatening to rip out his throat - arguably an improvement - only to be shoved aside by Volta as more red vapor began to rise from his mouth, her mouth swiftly covering it in her own rendition of the Devil’s violent kiss, complete with blood trickling to join the rest pooling beneath him. She drank in deep, too deep, his chest jerking up against her as he struggled to breathe, golden claws twisting into the tablecloth.

He managed a gasp of air as Vulgora roughly shouldered the Procurator to the side, suffocating again with their greedy mouth taking up where hers left off. Volta shrieked and grabbed at them, then moved to coat her hands and face in blood when they wouldn’t budge from crouching on top of his chest, just as hungrily drinking it up, rudely jabbing a fork into his side when the flow had begun to slack. 

His already pale skin was turning paler amidst the crimson smeared all over it, a grayish green tinge in his face, eyelids fluttering. Would they stop if he passed out? Would they stop at all? 

It wasn’t Valerius’ place to stop this, but God he wanted to, the command stubbornly remaining lodged in the back of his throat like a lead weight. The smell of blood stung in his nose, blood and something else, and he realized with horror it was making his mouth water. He managed to tear his eyes away long enough to see if the Devil was going to stop it, though he started it, and of course the beast only smiled.

“Heathens, the lot of you,” Vlastomil sniffed, before reaching forward and tugging the other two Courtiers off the Count as if they were weightless despite his frail looks. “Continue on like _that_ and none of us are getting repaid.”

A keen eye gazed over Lucio’s shaking, bloody form, the shine of hunger reminding the Consul that he wasn’t stopping them to save him. His chest was heaving, red vapor drawing back into his mouth, head lolled to gaze up towards their faces rather than the ceiling. The glamour keeping him docile had begun to crack under the onslaught - there was life slowly returning to dull eyes. Frightened, confused life. His wounded body twitched and shuddered, like jerking awake from a dream, golden claws scraping against the table for purchase, trying to push himself up without fully understanding which way was up.

“Tsk,” An annoyed sigh in that too-deep voice as the Devil rose to his feet.

The beast leaned over him, surprisingly gently running one black hand along his torn skin. Magic flowed from it once more, pulling the deep gouges further closed but leaving thin, still-leaking red lines in their place rather than fully healing him. His hand came to rest against Lucio’s gore streaked cheek, the poor bastard instinctively leaning into it with a shaky little whine, and soon red eyes dulled again, body slowly relaxing against the blood spattered table, breath slow and even. 

He held him like that for a long moment, settling back into the seat at the head of the table when it was clear he wouldn't wake up again.

Once the dust had settled, Vlastomil leaned forward and just as gently lapped up the blood pooling along his neck, licking his lips to taste it as though he were sampling wine. Somehow it was that much worse when he did it than the Devil, probably because he expected as much from the Devil.

“Oh yes, very robust, a good flavor,” The older man chittered, likely regurgitating wine talk heard in more refined company. The fact that it was blood only added to the ridiculousness of such a statement. “Consul? What would you say?”

Valerius nearly choked, coughing into the remainder of his wine, face burning again. What was worse than the direct attention was that Vlastomil had the limp flesh arm in his grip, pulling it across Lucio’s naked body to offer it to him. Trails of red trickled down to his shoulder, thankfully much less than moments before. He could see his fingers trembling.

“That’s uh, that’s quite alright. I’m good.” He managed through a forced smile, holding up his glass. There was barely a swallow left. 

He suddenly realized he was very thirsty, and the glint of red looked a bit too inviting.

Thankfully the Praetor didn’t press him further, only shrugged and let the arm drop in favor of letting his hands trail over the prone body, moving downwards to his hips. His cock had softened in the chaos, likely due to blood loss, but it quickly stood at attention again the moment Vlastomil’s bony fingers brushed against it. Definitely something else Lucio wouldn’t have stood for in his right mind, and he wasn’t sure if he’d stand for it now however deep in a trance he was, judging by how his hips twitched _away_ from the touch.

“Don’t think he wants you,” Vulgora laughed. “Might need to put the stupid bitch further under.”

Valerius could see slack lips silently twitching, likely an attempt to indignantly assert that he was their Count. He could almost hear it in his voice, because of course _that’s_ what he would focus on.

“Doesn’t matter what he _wants_ , now does it?” A sharp squeeze to his cock, eliciting a muffled whimper and a brief tensing of muscles, but otherwise he remained still and docile. 

Bony fingers softened their grip in order to stroke, raising goosebumps along Lucio’s naked body and instilling an empathetic shudder of revulsion in Valerius. He didn’t want to watch this, didn’t want to see Vlastomil hoist himself up to loom over the Count’s prone frame in order to catch his lips in his own possessive kiss, forcibly pushing a skinny leg between naked ones. He couldn’t see the red vapor this time, but he knew it was being drawn out of him in how his back suddenly arched up and his chest seized, how the Praetor’s draconic pupils dilated like an opium addict taking a hit. He drank deep, but released him every so often to allow him the chance to breathe in shuddering gasps as those skeletal fingers continued to stroke and grope.

“Hurry up, I thought you were gonna screw!” Vulgora hooted, slamming their fist on the table next to Lucio’s shoulder, rattling it. “Get screwin’!”

Volta had covered her face with both small hands, but a few fingers were spread apart to allow her good eye to peek through, her sickly skin flushed. Valdemar appeared somewhat bored by this turn of events, and the Devil’s posture was relaxed but interested, watching all of them. Valerius’ skin crawled, couldn’t stop crawling, felt like he was submerged in one of the bastard’s wormariums. 

Without thinking the Consul slammed both hands on the table and pushed himself out of his seat, the roar of his pulse in his ears drowning out the distant shattering of glass. He couldn’t take it any longer. He refused to stand by and watch _Vlastomil_ handle the Count like that. Any of the others, fine, even the fucking Devil, but Vlastomil--!

All eyes were on him at once, and he desperately fought the instinct to either sit back down or flee.

Vlastomil reluctantly released his captive’s lips once more, gaze stern and disappointed as though he’d been interrupted from a meeting. “Do you have a _problem_ , Consul Valerius?” 

“I’ll-- I’ll take him. For the screwing.” Valerius said stiffly, shoulders squared back and chin lifted to make himself seem more authoritative than he felt. “I have prior experience and besides -- no offense, but I’m not entirely sure you possess the means to _handle_ him in your rather advanced age.”

The Praetor’s face turned a startling shade of red, and Vulgora laughed again. 

“He’s callin’ your dick limp!” 

“Yes, _thank_ you, Pontifex,” Vlastomil grunted, before turning his attention back to the Consul, reedy voice dropping into a hiss. “You’re not special because you spread your legs for him years ago - if I had to wait my turn for _every_ floozy he took, I’d be waiting until the end of time.”

An indignant squawk escaped Valerius’ throat unbidden. “Floozy?!”

He didn’t even hear the response, too focused on pouncing on the table and shoving the older man to the floor to more raucous laughter. There was the hint of a smirk twitching at the corners of Lucio’s lips, although it could have been a trick of the light. He hated that look almost as much as the disgusting scene he nearly witnessed.

“I refuse to take sloppy seconds from a _worm_ ,” The Consul huffed, both to the actual worm and the prone man beneath him, slinging a leg over to straddle his waist as he began to disrobe.

“I have _seniority_ , I had him _long_ before the rest of you,” Vlastomil spat, but pulled himself into his abandoned seat rather than make his own animal lunge, rubbing at his face where it had collided with the floor. There was the beginning of purple bruising under deathly pale skin.

Valerius ignored him, letting his braided hair fall on that side as a sort of visual shield from having to see his stupid face. He didn't want to know what that statement meant, didn't want to think about what the hell he was doing, though without the impetus of removing the competition that's all that was left to think about - now that he _had_ him, he wasn't sure he wanted to follow through. Not like this, in any case, where the Count lay so still and patient between his thighs, unable to make rude remarks or grab his ass.

He was completely at his mercy, and the thought both thrilled and terrified him.

The Consul pushed his own robe to the floor, shifting up onto his knees to lean over him, moving in to kiss - and pausing, remembering which mouth had been there before. With another shudder of revulsion he brought a hand up to wipe at those soft lips with the pad of his thumb, clearing away real and imagined evidence of Vlastomil. The touch seemed to encourage the lips to part, waiting for him to take them, and that strange red vapor began to rise from his mouth again. Now in the hot seat himself, he wasn't sure if Lucio knew he was doing it, nevermind if he was doing it intentionally. 

Valerius hesitated, letting it coil harmlessly around his face, breathing it in more naturally. It was warm like blood, but tasted like nothing he would ever be able to describe, and it pulled at him like a needy lover, flooding him, overwhelming and satisfying some dark part of him all at once. The room seemed too bright and yet far away, his chest tightening with a surge of panic that wasn't his. He knew in an instant this was something a mortal man should not have - oh, but he _wanted_ it. He wanted more.

He barely caught a glimpse of knowing grins and hungry eyes before he lunged for the Count’s lips, capturing them in his own greedy kiss. Valerius inhaled, sharply, trying to pull that red ambrosia into his own lungs as the others had done before him. What he hadn't seen was that Lucio was attempting to pull it _back_ when his chest hitched and his back arched, fighting against him to hold onto it despite his mind pushed deep under the Devil's spell. There was a note of desperation in it, a jolt of terror and grim expectation that he'd lose the struggle.

What would happen if he did? It felt very much like the Count was fighting for his life - what exactly _was_ he taking from him?

Reluctantly he released him, allowing the red vapor to draw back in with desperate, shuddering breaths. That dark part of him urged him to chase it, draw it back out, take all of it for himself, suck the bastard _dry_. He shuddered, covered his face with a hand to block it out. His heart had lodged in his throat again, preparing to leap out and join the trembling man beneath him. He felt sick, sicker still that his cock was hard and his body thrummed with echoes of that strange warmth. He felt almost empty without it.

“You pass out n’ your ass is on the menu too.” Vulgora’s voice goaded, miles away. 

“Shut up,” Valerius croaked, his own voice just as distant.

He forced himself to dig his teeth into the bruised neck instead of going back for more, trying to ground himself, ignoring the alluring stink of blood on his skin. His hands felt along that lean cut frame again, moving down to his hips and cock, giving it a good rough stroke. One of his only redeeming features, in Valerius’ opinion. His fingers slid lower, cupping his balls before pressing up against his ass. He’d never let him fuck him like _that_ years ago.

(To be fair, he'd never asked, perfectly happy riding that thick cock.)

The Consul’s other hand clumsily slapped at the table for something he could use for lubrication, anything, preferably something _normal._ It was caught in cool metal, on the wrong side and not rough enough to be Vulgora, armored fingers slowly curling around his palm as his arm was tugged upwards. 

He released the neck in his grip, glancing up to confirm what he thought was happening - Lucio slowly pressed his fingers to his lips, drawing them into his mouth to suck. His tongue lathed against his fingertips with slowness that could be interpreted as carefulness, though his dull eyes continued to gaze through him. Valerius shuddered, curling his fingers against the soft tongue, wondering if he should pull his hand back - it wasn’t clear if this was of his own volition or the Devil subconsciously urging him to do it. There was also the urge to push his fingers further in to choke him on them, and the thought that he could put something _else_ in that obliging mouth.

It was that last one he decided to follow, tugging his hand free in order to rise up on his knees again, turning himself around so that cocks and faces lined up. Unlike the Count, he knew how to give as well as take. He lowered his hips and waited, not taking the thick cock before him into his mouth until the sensation had begun on his own, unfortunately agonizingly slow. Armored fingers lightly rested against his hips, the flesh hand coming up to join it on the other side.

“Not fair,” Vlastomil’s voice drifted in from his left, an audible pout. “I could’ve done that too.”

To spite him, Valerius suddenly and rather roughly hilted the cock in his mouth, feeling it press against the back of his throat. His own cock vibrated with a hazy groan, a sharp lance of pain in his hip as golden claws instinctively clamped down, clinging to his legs like a lifeline.

His freshly slick fingers slid between Lucio’s thighs, slowly working them inside of him as he sucked, following his own rhythm. The mouth against his own cock faltered, unable to keep up so deep under the Devil’s thrall. A damn shame, he used to be so _good_ at this. The Consul filled in the gaps by rocking his hips, shallowly fucking his mouth in time with the motion of his own mouth and hand. It was all he could do to keep from shoving himself down his throat, choking him on his cock. He knew the others wouldn’t be so merciful, though he wasn't sure if anyone but Vlastomil _had_ a cock to choke him with.

God, and now he was thinking about the fucking worm fucking him again. _Fuck._

He tried to force the thought from his head by redoubling his efforts on the cock in his grip, focusing on the taste of him, how he could feel his hips slowly arching up against him, bit by bit, his breathing quick and hard against his own cock, barely sucking on his own now, just allowing his mouth to be fucked, a mouth blessedly silent except for a soft whimper as Valerius raked his teeth along the shaft. 

The idea that he was doing this on the table in front of the other Courtiers slowly drifted away with each bob of his head and tensing of muscles beneath his hands, only seeing the luxurious master bedroom long before it went up in flames when he closed his eyes, red silk sheets twisted around writhing limbs and sweating bodies, the stink of sex and fine wine clinging to their skin, all pretenses of refinement and nobility and good sense broken with hedonistic abandon. He felt like he was ‘home’, in a way - picking up where he left off like Lucio had never died and he had never seen the Devil in his dreams.

The hands on his hips loosened and fell limply back to the table as if he’d stolen their strength with his throat, and Valerius could feel the familiar, tell-tale tensing of muscles against his lips heralding release. Immediately he pulled his mouth off the cock, hand taking up where it left off with brusque, merciless stroking that continued even as Lucio’s hips juddered against his chest and his fingers slicked with cum, chest hitching against his stomach, a sharp sob-like gasp barely muffled against his own throbbing cock. He distantly wondered if this was the first time he’d been allowed to get off in the past three years, considering how violently his body twitched, and if it would be enough to wake him up again.

Would he be just as upset? Arguably waking up with a cock in your mouth would be better than a potentially mortal wound in your side. 

Valerius eased himself free and rose up on his knees again, keeping his head and eyes down to hold onto that heady moment of nostalgia that much longer before he had to face the Count and to a lesser extent his audience. With a deep breath he turned himself around again, settling between spread thighs with forced confidence and ease, finally glancing up towards Lucio’s face.

Red eyes were still dull and distant, this time with an extra glaze of pleasure, lazily regarding the Consul once again at his hips. That slight hint of a smirk was playing at his lips again, and he seemed a lot more relaxed. The Devil’s hold remained unbroken, aided by the haze of afterglow. If he knew what was going on before, he definitely knew nothing now. It was probably due to the pleasure still simmering in his own hips, but Valerius realized he liked that look. Fucked stupid, and he hadn’t even properly fucked him yet.

That odd monstrous hunger began to coil inside him again, achingly hot and possessive. This was his, it insisted - this bastard belonged to him, his to use and take whatever he wanted. His teeth itched to tear into that elegant throat, his fingers aching to rip open the thin red lines criss-crossing that beautiful body, make him bleed, put fear back in those dull eyes. 

In spite of the dark claws gripping the back of his mind, the hands instead moved to further slick his entrance with his cum, shifting to grip his thighs as he slowly eased himself inside him, the low groan in his throat echoed by the Count beneath him. It felt so good, too good - he must have been pushed further to the brink than he initially thought. His first few thrusts were halting and slow for that reason, like a young man who had never fucked before.

Without warning a metal gauntlet smacked his ass, hard enough to jerk his body forward and hilt himself inside Lucio, followed by loud jeers that nearly made his dick crawl right back out and into his body. 

A hell of a reminder that he was on display, here.

“You can fuck better than that!” Vulgora laughed. “Scared ‘cause you ain’t topped before?”

Valerius whirled towards the Pontifex, fixing them with a withering glare that just seemed to tickle them more. His face was as red as the welts that would doubtlessly be forming on his ass cheeks, unable to think of a properly scathing retort. It was far, far too late to back out now, not that he wanted to, but in that moment he wished he could.

“Don’t interrupt! It’s just getting good!” Volta’s voice squeaked, muffled by her hands.

Vlastomil remained chillingly silent. He wasn’t sure if Valdemar was still in the room, or if he particularly cared what they did as long as they didn’t try to take his prize from him.

The shadow of the Devil’s snout had fallen uncomfortably close to Lucio’s head, indicating he’d become _very_ interested in the goings on before him. If he moved to take him, the Consul knew in an instant he would not be able to keep hold of him. 

Valerius felt his own body tense as thick black fingers lazily stroked along the bruised neck, caressing Lucio’s face in a mockery of compassion. Painted eyelids fluttered closed again, his head lolling back against the table as his other captor forced himself to thrust, unsure if he was allowed to join in on whatever the hell the beast was doing. Red vapor once again began to rise from his lips, as if compelled by the touch, but the Devil made no move to capture it, allowing it to curl and billow between them. Valerius clamped his teeth shut, quickly turning his head away from it and the cold eyes watching him, trying not to breathe.

He couldn't indulge that again, didn't want to know what would happen when his tenuous grip on self control slipped. The Devil knew it and was taunting him with it. Waiting for him to break.

“You're _wasting_ it!” Vlastomil howled, and immediately fell silent as the cold, challenging eyes focused on him instead.

A flash of gold in the corner of his eye drew Valerius’ gaze downwards, just in time to see Lucio’s sharp claws slowly, deliberately following the red lines down his own neck and chest, tearing new life into scabbing wounds, thick rivulets of blood bubbling up and rolling down pale skin. This definitely _wasn't_ something he was doing of his own volition, but the Consul couldn't move to stop it, watching droplets fall and shift in time with halting thrusts.

Too focused on the blood, he barely noticed Lucio's flesh hand twisting into his braid - until a sharp tug downwards slammed his face against the bloody chest, right in the midst of the flow. His tongue darted out before he could stop it, quickly licking up the nearest crimson trail like spilt wine.

He knew what blood tasted like, at least his own, having sampled it occasionally when the beautiful bastard played too rough. Somehow this was different, _stronger_ \- a liquid form of that alluring red mist, oddly sweet and monstrously addictive, like someone had taken his normal blood and replaced it with condensed magic. Immediately he lapped up more of it, feeling its warmth smearing across his face as he worried open wounds further with his teeth like a goddamn feral animal. He barely felt his own hips moving, fucking him in earnest, drawn in as he was by the taste of the Count’s lifeblood.

He'd fallen into the Devil's trap anyway, and now that he was here he wasn't sure if he wanted to loosen the snare around his neck, considering how fucking _good_ it felt.

The fingers in his hair twisted further, tugging his head upwards, _away_ from his ambrosia. Before he could begin to fight it soft lips pressed against his own bloodied ones, equally blood-slicked claws grasping blindly at his face to keep him close. He couldn't tell if that was another urging from the Devil, hardly cared as he felt the scorching heat of the red vapor willingly invading his mouth and lungs this time, drinking in as deep as he seemed to be allowed. Pleasure swarmed his body, overwhelming him, yet he could feel himself still moving, still hot and hard. He pressed hungrily into the kiss, dug his teeth into Lucio's lower lip until the warmth of blood was in his greedy mouth again, sending a harsh shudder through him as the supernatural pleasure intensified, too much and not enough all at once.

Once again he felt the outside world dropping away, leaving only two bodies connected as one in more ways than he knew. All he knew was the ebb and flow of pleasure, following it as far as it would take him, letting it drown him and gorge him until he felt fit to burst. Distantly he could feel the Count’s grip beginning to slack again, weakening against him the longer their bodies burned together. His own hand came up to grip him by the nape, forcing their mouths to remain joined that much longer, no matter how his own lungs cried out for air. He took and took and took, trying to ignore how Lucio began to weakly push and claw at his chest, his head pressing back against his hand, unable to escape.

If he pushed any further, he realized, he was going to kill him. 

Climax seared through him before he had the chance to entertain the thought of letting that happen, violent and powerful enough to strip him entirely of his own strength, his prey finally falling from his bloody jaws as he collapsed on top of him. The world was dark and still so far away, the only sign he wasn't alone in it the trembling warmth and heaving breaths against his body, the frantic pounding of another heart against his ear. 

That dark, hungry part of him seemed to finally be satiated - and in its place, a very keenly human pang of remorse began to surface, just beneath the aftershocks of intense pleasure thrumming through him.

God, what did he just _do_?

What had he nearly done? 

Blood was still in his mouth and nose, doubtlessly also in his hair, clinging to his face and chest and hands, mixing with pools of cold sweat in a very uniquely disgusting sort of way. His stomach twisted and threatened to unload its unholy cargo on the table and the source. He wanted to run, but his body refused to move, paralyzed by the sudden horror of sobriety.

Distantly he felt hands on him, stronger hands, trying to pull him away, and instinctively Valerius grabbed the nearest part of Lucio's shaking frame he could, curling tightly around him like a wolf protecting its kill.

“Come now, we _all_ get a turn,” Someone huffed, voice too distant to recognize. 

None of them deserved him, or the experience he just had. His lips twisted into a snarl, unable to articulate this outside of an animalistic growl he felt in his throat, startling himself.

If there was a response to that, he never heard it, too focused on the next set of hands that almost effortlessly separated him from his prize, the feeling of warmth and soft fur against his too sensitive skin, a strong arm pressed against his back, effectively trapping him. The thought to escape was still in the forefront of his mind - but his treacherous body simply curled up in the Devil's grip like he belonged there, trembling from cold and something he didn't want to identify, naked and vulnerable like the poor creature lying bloody on the table.

“You'll get used to it in time,” The deep voice chuckled, rumbling through his body, and he felt a broad hand stroke his half-loosened hair like comforting a child after a bad dream, a gesture that was surely mocking his current state.

But maybe that's all it was. A vivid dream.

Valerius held tightly to that thought as he allowed himself to relax against his captor, trying to ignore the taste of blood in his mouth, the sounds of the table creaking under extra weight, a pained, breathless whimper in Lucio's voice.

Just a dream.


End file.
